Breathing Providence
by MidnightDawn999
Summary: AU - Anatoly is injured by Fisk, and Vladimir is left to pick up the pieces. (Written for a Guest reviewer on Normal Days!)
1. Chapter 1

**Written for the guest reviewer over on Normal Days - your prompt deserved a fic of its own! So here we are, I don't know how long this will be but... Thank you, thank you, thank you - this is for you! You reviewed at a time when it was needed most, spaseeba! Da!**

 **God bless!**

Beeping. Somewhere, he could hear beeping - and he couldn't decide if it was too loud, or too quiet. Constant, never-ending, droning on, and on, and on... Shock, like a thousand needles jabbed into his skin all at once. His back arched then dropped back down. Pain was suffocating. Murmuring voices filled his ears and the more they spoke, the more it hurt.

Never had he felt anything like it. Not even in the three years of prison.

Vladimir. Vladimir. Bratok. It meant so much, and the last thought he had was - why?

*****DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL ****

"Vladimir." Sergei's voice was growly and low even over the phone, and it was better that way, it hid the exhaustion. He waited for an answer.

Vladimir had been calling... and calling, and calling more. It had been almost two days since he'd been in touch with his brother, and now... he knew; something had happened.

So when he'd gotten the call from Sergei, he answered imediately, without waiting any longer than he had to. "Da?" He waited, one hand clutching the phone, the other fidgeting with a paper on his desk. His eyes scanned it over and over, but he never read the words. It was like the silence was crushing as he waited for Sergei to go on.

Sergei spoke in their native tongue. "We found him." Sergei paused, before repeating a hospital name and directions that the paramedics had briefly given him. It was enough.

Vladimir tensed, frowning and gritting his teeth. "Spaseeba..." He took a moment, then headed toward the door, yanking on his jacket with one hand, keeping track of the phone with the other. He muttered in his language, mind running a million miles an hour, imagining what must've happened to his brother that landed Anatoly in the hospital. He could imagine too much-FAR too much.

"Coming, Ooveedeemsya." He switched from English to Russian, and walked out the door. He said nothing, only walked silently through the halls. He was angry... and worried. (Though he wouldn't admitt to that.) What had happened? The last thing he'd said to Anatoly was "Make the deal..." A sickening thought hit him... what if-heaven forbid-but what if Anatoly didn't...?

Vladimir shook his head, not letting that thought gain ground. He stalked through the halls, finally winding up in the garage. Without explanation, he got in one of the cars, started the engine, and drove out, on his way to the hospital. His thoughts jumped back and forth. Partly, he paid attention to the road... However, his focus was mainly on what exactly he would see when he reached his destination.

He gripped the steering wheel-perhaps a little too tightly-as he drove. He nearly caused four accidents, all without giving it a second thought. He wondered... who had caused this? The man in black? Maybe... Fisk? Anatoly had been going to see Fisk... had he done it?

Vladimir's blood boiled at the very thought. His expression darkened, eyes flashed with anger, and he sped up...

After a short drive, (only short because he was driving BIT too fast) he arrived at the hospital Sergei had told him. He parked, got out, and quickly made his way toward the large-and rather intimidating-building. Granted, hospitals weren't usually a problem, but he'd never visited Anatoly in one...

Once inside, he found his way around to a waiting room, in which, he found Sergei. "Sergei..." he called quietly, voice tense.

"I already signed for him," Sergei replied, standing up. Although he'd lied and said he'd been his uncle, no one had questioned it - despite it having obviously been far from the truth. "He's in surgery."

Vladimir's jaw clenched. His eyes darted back and forth as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on a large screen with names, and colors, running down the screen. He bumped past Sergei on his way toward it. He looked over it (a bit desperately) and finally found the name. The color on the name was red... red meant something bad-that much, he knew.

"What happened? Where?" Vlad was speaking before he'd even turned back to Sergei.

"We found him in a lot a block away..." Sergei cautiously stood behind the other Russian, staring at the screen hanging above them.

Turning to look Sergei in the eye, Vlad's eyes narrowed. He nodded once. "What happened to him?"

Sergei tried to choose his words carefully. "Someone tried to take his head."

Vladimir's hands tightened to fists and his eyes widened. "Shto?" He didn't need it to be repeated... he'd heard. He didn't know what exactly it meant, but it had an ominous sound. He moved away from the other Russian, toward a doctor-he'd know what was going on.

Without putting much thought into his actions, he cornered the doctor. "Where is my брат?"

The doctor looked a bit concerned. He stared up at Vladimir through worried eyes. Vlad realized that he might cause them to call security, and that wasn't what he wanted, or needed. He backed up, took a deep breath, and tried again. "My brother..." He quickly explained what little he knew of what happened, then asked where he was.

"Oh, Uh... he's in surgery, you can't see him now."

Vladimir's expression darkened, muscles twitched, and he breathed a curse under his breath. "When?"

The man paused for a moment, seeming to try to understand what Vlad meant by "when?" "Oh, Uhmm... I'll have someone come talk to you, all right?"

Vladimir was tired of people getting other people because they didn't know what was going on. He just needed to know Anatoly would be all right, that was all that mattered-then, he would kill whoever it was that had attempted to take his brother's life.


	2. Chapter 2

**MiraJe: Russian dictionary? Sure! I'll try and do that, though as this is already written, up to chapter six, I'm not sure If I'll be able to catch them all... Sorry if that happens! I put a basic one at the end of this chapter! God bless you.**

His body felt numb. Numb and heavy and unmovable. His thoughts were hazy and thick. He knew there was something he had to do, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with what it was. There was a face. A man, snarling down at him, and he knew something about it was too important to forget.

Vladimir. The name again.

Vladimir was his brother.

Right? Yes.

He held onto that thought - the lifeline in the world of timeless darkness. He fought to remember, he fought to keep what he still had, and he fought the fog that held him beneath.

**DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL ***

Vladimir paced, back and forth, and back again, and then forth once more. He glared down at the green carpet, wondering how they could deny him the right to see his brother for so long. What if...? No. He muttered angrily, nearly bumped into another pacing person, and kept walking.

He paid little attention to anything going on around him, with the exception of glancing at the board to see where Anatoly was. He hated this. The smells of the hospital-it was clean, but sickly so. It was filled with death and crying people... it was annoying, grating on Vladimir's frayed nerves.

He'd gotten two calls from Wesley, trying to reach him. He'd ignored them both and turn off his phone. If they were in some way responsible, he would NOT be speaking with them-until he looked into their eyes and ended their lives... but up 'til that point...

And it was back to pacing. A cough from Sergei snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up, doing a double take as a man walked toward him, white coat trailing along behind him, expression serious and professional.

The Doctor stopped in front of him. "Mr. Ranskahov? I'm Doctor Lemington. I worked on your brother - do you want to sit down?"

"I think, maybe I stand." He blinked, staying where he was a few feet in front of the man. Vladimir's expression was impassive as he waited for something he could work with... anything. Something that would tell him Anatoly was going to live-that was all he needed, just that. He wasn't asking for much.

"Of course. I'll try and be brief, then. There's been extensive damage to the skull, spine and brain, we don't know how much yet. The skull was crushed, and as soon as it came in - the missing bone has been replaced by the titanium cranioplasty prosthesis. A prosthesis was made to replace his left eye, and we're waiting for our spine surgeon to get in."

Vlad swallowed noisily. For the first time in... well, forever, he had nothing to say. Threats were no use. Anger couldn't fix this. The lack of his two normal emotions left him feeling helpless... unable to help his brother. That, was something he hated more than anything.

"Moy брат..." he whispered, almost too quietly to be heard. Quickly, he regained composure, frowning for a moment, then making eye contact with the man before him. "H-his skull was crushed... How? How do you fix this?"

Everything slowly started to register. They'd replaced Anatoly's missing bone with something he couldn't even pronounce. They'd replaced his left eye... replaced it with something that wasn't an eye, which meant he only had one. "Nyet..." the word was muttered with a tired broken voice.

"Can I see him?"

"There's a chance of him being paralyzed from the neck down, if he makes it. Not to mention blind, deaf, and an amnesiac – we can't be sure yet. He's on a vent now - I just want you to know everything before you see him." Lemington looked over his shoulder and beckoned a nurse to his side. "Show Vladimir to room 420, Moira. Thank you."

Vladimir said nothing. He only nodded slowly. He glanced back at Sergei. The man looked down at the floor and said nothing-something Vladimir was grateful for. He moved forward, walking after the nurse. Last time he'd been in a hospital, it was with Anatoly, to see Semyon... it hadn't bothered him, because it hadn't been his brother.

He walked silently along, following the woman toward room 420. He looked around, checking the numbers on rooms. He passed by people in wheel chairs, or people just visiting others. The doctor's words ran through his mind. They were still waiting on a spine surgeon... There was a chance that Anatoly wouldn't remember anything, be paralyzed, blind, and possibly deaf as well. It couldn't happen... it couldn't. He wouldn't let it...

Then again, it wasn't in his control, was it? Because once more, he realized that anger and hatred wouldn't heal Anatoly. So, forward he went, walking through a mental storm, all the while wondering if this was his fault... for letting Anatoly go in the first place.

"Sir? You might want to take a moment before you go in, but this is it. If you need anything, just hit the call button."

Without a word, he moved past her. Moment over. He pushed the door open, walking into the room like a beaten puppy. Blue eyes stared at the scene before him. The image of his brother, broken, bandadged and oblivious to the world was almost too much. The plastic tube down Anatoly's throat hissed as it pushed air into his lungs...

The sight blurred as unshed tears slowly burned Vladimir's eyes. He moved forward, barely conscious of the movement. "Moy брат... Moy брат... Nyet..." He stood beside the bed as a single tear slowly trailed down his face, following the scar line from his eye. "K Eezveeneete, брат..." Whispered apologies slipped from a tired soul as he stared at the seemingly lifeless body before him.

He gently placed a hand on Anatoly's chest. The slow rise and fall as the vent pushed air in and out of his lungs was the only thing keeping Anatoly from slipping away...

 **As per request: Russian to English words: (Please don't believe this will make you fluent in Russian. It probably won't... probably )**

 **NOTE! Sorry, this is just a dictionary of sorts for you to reference back to...**

 **Zdrastvooyte = Hello**

 **Preevyet = Hi**

 **Spaseeba = Thank you**

 **Pazhalooysta = You're welcome**

 **Bal'shoye spaseeba = Thank you very much.**

 **Neeploha = Not so bad**

 **Meenya zavoot... = My name is...**

 **Kak vas zavoot? = What's your name?**

 **Eezveeneete = Sorry**

 **Neechevo, neechevo, pazhaloosta = That's all right**

 **(Or alternate)**

 **Nyezashta = That's all right**

 **Neechevo srashnava = No harm**

 **Prasteete = Excuse me**

 **Ooveedeemsya = See you**

 **Da sveedaneeya = Good-bye!**

 **Vi gavareetye pa angleeskee? = Do you speak English?**

 **Ya nee paneemayoo = I don't understand**

 **Ya paneemayoo = I understand**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, I'm up to nine chapters already written, and I'll say angst, hurt/comfort, suspense...**

 **Anyways, God bless and enjoy!**

Days dragged on like years, and nothing changed. The spine surgeon came and went. Apparently, the surgery had gone well, and the man was hopeful. Hopeful was better than nothing... but Vladimir didn't feel that hope... not as he sat beside his comatose brother. All he felt was pain.

It wasn't right. He'd sent people out onto the streets to figure out what happened, and was right now in the process of speaking with Sergei. "Da?" He listened as Sergei said they'd found a black SUV in a chop shop at the edge of Hell's Kitchen, but the plates had been removed, and-clearly-no one was claiming it. Vlad replied, telling him to keep looking, and get everyone on it, then hung up.

He spoke in their language, promising Anatoly that he would find out what happened, and he would make it right-he would avenge. He could make things right, shed blood... but what would it do? He could kill his brother's attacker-he could spill the blood of all those guilty, and Anatoly would still be here, cold and relying on a machine to keep him alive... barely within the place people called "life."

A man slipped into the room. In his hands he held a book, and they gripped it tightly. The expression on Vladimir's (He'd heard a nurse say it) face was one of exhaustion. He looked tired, and there was barely another way to describe it. "Excuse me? May I sit down?"

Vladimir's head jerked toward the voice. His eyes narrowed and he frowned for a moment. He was tempted to tell the man to leave; leave him alone with his brother for however long Anatoly had left. Yet, he couldn't quite manage to get himself to say the word "leave." Instead, he ended up just nodding.

Quietly, the man wearing the suit sat in one of the plastic hospital chairs. "I'm Remi," he introduced himself with a smile. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. "May I ask his name? If not, pretend I didn't say anything, and I'll just," the sentence was left hanging as he waved the book in the air, fingers posed to open it and do just as he said.

"Anatoly..." Remi nodded. "You're Russian. I tried learning Russian, once. I remember some of it. Preevyet, uh, meenya zavoot, Remi."

Vladimir's eyes tracked the man's movements. Some of the tenseness from before washed away as they found an ounce of common ground. So, the man could say "hi, my name is Remi." It wasn't impressive, but at least he'd made an attempt. Vladimir nodded. "Da, Nyezashta." He didn't know if the man spoke QUITE that much Russian, so he repeated in English. "Yes, that's all right." All right, didn't cover it... the man's pronunciation was actually quite bad, but still... he'd tried.

Remi grinned. "Spaseeba." The newcomer rubbed a hand over his beard. "My brother said I was hopeless. New Mexican accent and all, Russian and my accent don't mix."

"Da, he was right," Vladimir stated with, lips pulling slightly at the edges. His gaze returned to Anatoly's face, half hidden behind white gauze pads and bandages. What was visible, was bruised and and cut. It hurt-physically and mentally-just seeing Anatoly like this.

"I'd like to pray with you two," Remi - the apparent pastor said, and waited for Vladimir's reply.

The conversation's sudden change had Vladimir looking at Remi again. "Pray?" he asked. Yes, it wasn't a new concept, Vladimir knew people prayed... the new bit was, people generally didn't offer to pray for the Russian mob.

"Yeah." Remi leaned forward in his chair to reposition himself. "May I do the honor?"

It was Vladimir's turn to look completely puzzled at something. He nodded slowly, peering cautiously at the man.

Remi bowed his head, and took a deep breath, letting the situation settle into his soul. "Dear Father, we don't know what Your will is, but I'm pleading that it is for Anatoly to heal. Please save this man, if this isn't when he's supposed to leave this world. Use this situation. You said in Your Word You're near to the brokenhearted and crushed of spirit - Oh God, fill Vladimir with Your peace. I love you, Lord Jesus - amen."

Vladimir blinked, staring at Anatoly long after the words of the pastor ended. For once, he actually apreciated the gesture. Someone cared enough to bother... but he didn't know what good it would do. "Your God doesn't want us," Vlad stated quietly.

"It isn't our place to say who He wants and who He doesn't. Today He may choose you, and tomorrow it will be a girl dying of cancer."

Vladimir breathed out a sigh. He wasn't going to argue with a preacher-he'd learned a long time ago that he could win all battles, except when he argued with preachers; he never won those. So he just let the room fall into silence again. The pastor's words still rang in the silence...

"Dear Father, we don't know what Your will is, but I'm pleading that it is for Anatoly to heal..."


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the day passed by without incident. No calls, no visitors, and no change as far as Anatoly was concerned. Vladimir stayed in the room with the exception of the occasional five to ten minutes once in a while.

He sat in an uncomfortable plastic hospital chair, but all he could think about was Anatoly... what would happen to him? Could he hear? Was he thinking? Did he know where he was?

Vladimir's eyes scanned his brother's face on occasion, only when he felt brave. Most of the time, his gaze remained locked on Anatoly's chest... he stared, watching the rise and fall that meant Anatoly wasn't gone. He was so broken, helpless, and pale...

So, Vladimir found himself musing about a God he didn't know. Did this God care about his brother and him? Vladimir saw the way the hospital staffed looked at him-looked at Anatoly. They didn't believe he would ever wake up... so he wondered, with so many against the very idea, was it even possible?

The thought had only just left his mind when the usual, steady beeping of the heartmonitor changed... it had gone from a steady rhythm, to one constant humming beep. Vladimir was snapped out of his thoughts. It couldn't be... it couldn't...

The door was flung open as doctors and nurses charged in. They swarmed around Anatoly, all looking serious and grim.

"Sir, you have to leave now," a nurse stated.

"Nyet..." Vladimir refused. Wide eyes turned to look at Anatoly... he was dying. He was dying, and they wanted to make him leave. His blood boiled, and anger simmered just below the surface.

"You have to go-we're doing what we can, go..." the woman continued, practically shoving Vlad out.

The doors slammed in his face, and he stared into the room as doctors worked to bring back the heartbeat that seemed to be all that was left of Anatoly. His heart... the only thing that was his own, not some machine. Vladimir clasped his hands before his face, then clenched his jaw. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and hissed out in frustration. It took all his self control not to do something... irrational. He had to stay calm, if not for himself, then for Anatoly.

One of the doctors came out, walked toward him, and quietly stated they'd recesitated Anatoly, but needed to stabalize him, and until then, Vladimir would have to wait.

So wait he did. Vladimir began pacing-something of a habit of late. He fidgited, eyes darting back and forth to look at everyone who passed by. Yet again, he was left in silence to wonder if-in some small part-this was his fault. Had Wesley and Fisk had something to do with this? If they had... they would die.

Pacing, back and forth. His boots thudded on the tiled floor and he moved along the hall like a caged tiger. His attention was elsewhere...

….Remi only realized someone was right there when he was nearly sent sprawling backwards onto his gluteus maximus. "Preevyet, Vladimir." Remi shook off his surprise and replaced it with a smile.

Vladimir paused and stared as though he'd just stumbled into a fantasy-like something unrealistic had happened. He blinked, frowned, and nodded. "Zdrastvooyte," he answered absently, then it was back to pacing as he walked around the preacher.

"I was on my way to the hospital Starbucks. Want to join?"

Vladimir turned, looking back toward Anatoly's room. He didn't want to leave his brother alone. "I think..." he paused as he made eye contact with the doctor. The man waved a hand at him and nodded, basically dismissing Vladimir.

All this was frustrating. He was constantly being shooed away from Anatoly, chased out of the room, and kept from protecting his brother. His job was being denied him. It was a constant irritation and he wanted it over. He wasn't used to being ignored... it wasn't something he dealt well with... and he wasn't used to... to Anatoly being so injured-not even in prison...

Vladimir had seemed to drift off, forgeting Remi's presense.

"All right - I'll bring coffee and some lawn chairs."

"Shto?" Vlad shook his head, seeming to come out of some kind of trance.

"Do you want to go to Starbucks, or do you want Starbucks to come to you?" Remi asked the question, completely serious. He was pretty sure he did have some chairs left in the church van outside...

Vladimir wasn't sure what exactly he was supposed to do with that. It didn't seem like he could just say "no." He finally-reluctantly-ac cepted. The doctors wouldn't allow him to see his brother now anyway-a fact that would only make him angry, which would probably end with him doing something he really shouldn't do. "Fine, when?"

"When can I be back with some lattes and chairs?" Remi checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. Ten."

Vladimir nodded blankly. Just then, his phone rang. He picked it up, accepting the call and listening. Piotr checked in. So far, they'd had no contact from anyone with information. Vladimir's expression flipped from distressed to annoyed. He spoke in Russian, telling the man to spread the word that he would pay one million for information-anyone who could tell him what happened. He hung up and jammed his cell back in his pocket.

"You have coffee preference?" Remi looked as though nothing had happened. Besides the fact he'd only caught a few words here and there.

"Black." The brief statement was followed by a glance toward Anatoly's room. Nurses and doctors were still swarming him like bees around a hive-and it was frustrating.

"Okay. Black. Chairs." Remi's muttering was accompanied by hand motions, before he took off down a corridor, Bible in one hand, and other arm pumping.


	5. Chapter 5

**You're all to kind! God bless.**

Anatoly could hear thrumming, beeping and whirring. He wanted to get out. Out of the land of dark and loneliness. He had heard things – a man speaking to Vladimir of God, he'd heard Sergei, among other things. And there he stayed, helpless and still.

Each heart beat was torture, and each mechanical breath was torment. It wasn't life, and it wasn't death, but somewhere in between – a type of Hell. A Hell not of fire and brimstone, but echoing and emptiness. Of grim musing and nightmares. There was no pride or dignity in fluids pumped into your body, nor was being defenseless.

Fisk. Vladimir had been right to be cautious. He never should have gone. There was no deal – nothing but this land of black. And he was trapped, perhaps until death.

He wanted to scream. But when he made the sound, it bounced back to him; never left his lips. The cries and frustrated yells were forever trapped inside of his head.

Images replayed in his head, and he couldn't open his eyes to see past them. He lived in a moment of desperation, confusion, and pure shock. There was agony as the door closed, again, and again, relentlessly – and there was dread.

None had cared to stop it. Not Wesley, not the driver… Though, Anatoly expected no mercy. Not in this life.

But now he couldn't escape, and it went on, and he still received no amount of mercy.

"Mne zhal', 6paT. Ya dolzhen imeyut slushal..."

Anatoly heard the words spoken as though he was locked inside a room – and someone was talking just beyond the door. The older brother felt a weight. Like carrying the burden of death.

He was dying, wasn't he?

That night rain poured relentlessly outside, drowning out the sounds of the city. Vladimir stayed in Anatoly's room... he watched his brother's breathing-slow and constant-as the vent pushed air in and out of his lungs. All Vladimir felt was anger-at whoever had done this to his brother, and at humanity in general.

The way people moved around him, whispering and speaking as though he wouldn't understand them was frustrating. The nurses, the doctors... they were all doing it. They would look at Anatoly and shake their heads. Vlad noticed it constantly.

So there he was, sitting in a chair beside the still figure of his brother. Closed eyes flicked back and forth as Vladimir's thoughts ran wild. His clasped hands rested before his face, and he tried to understand what had happened. Sergei and Piotr had found Anatoly in an empty lot only a block away from the garage...

Whoever had done this to Anatoly had left him to die. They'd just dumped him like that... bloody, broken... there wasn't a chance for him. If Sergei hadn't found him... The thought had Vladimir fuming. If Anatoly had been found an hour later, he would be dead-and Vladimir would be mourning his brother... buring him. Still, he wondered... if they'd gone to Moscow, would this have happened?

"Mne zhal', 6paT. Ya dolzhen imeyut slushal..."

He blinked rapidly and his gaze fixed on his brother's face, hidden under so many bandages and bruises. He reached on hand forward, and it hovered over the protective gauze pads. Slowly, Vladimir pulled his hand back and placed it on Anatoly's chest. Vlad closed his eyes and leaned forward slightly.

The sounds of the ventelator as it breathed for his brother was the only sound that registered to Vladimir. He heard it, mocking him... mocking them both-they who were so strong relied upon that machine for breath. The heart monitor beeped away, reminding Vlad that Anatoly was there... still, but barely.

He wondered how long this would go on. He'd been there nearly a week, and nothing changed. The small thought made its way into Vladimir's mind-what if Anatoly didn't live? What if the machines prolonged his life, and his pain... but he never woke?

For all the power they possessed, for everything they had done and planned, still it came to this. Everything ended... Vladimir had simply hoped that he would die before his brother... he'd never wanted to watch his brother's life slowly fade before him-leaving him hopeless, unable to pull Anatoly back from the darkness that called to everyone. Seeing him hurt was painful, but there was nothing he could do-so not only was he hopeless, but helpless, and he hated it... But what was there to be done?

Yet, even now, he wasn't giving up. Not while Anatoly's heart still beat-and it did, constant and slow... but present.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm going to try and dedicated chapters to all you that have favorited!**

 **So first of all, Sapphire110! Thank you for reading and I hope you like this chapter!**

 **God bless!**

Morning came, but the rain stayed. It was rather fitting actually. Vladimir began wondering which of them looked worse; his brother, or him. Vladimir hadn't slept in days. He had to stay with Anatoly to make sure whoever had done this to him didn't try again... and if they did, they would fail, and lose their life.

There'd been no change-none at all. His brother seemed to be trapped somewhere between life and death, held in this life by machines and wires, on some cruel hope that perhaps he would just, wake up. Vladimir wondered if Anatoly knew... did he realize what was going on around him? Did he feel pain, or was he just... here?

A hundred times Vladimir had thought about what he would say and do to change this. If he'd known... what would he have done differently? The answer was anything; he would have done anything. Because of every life in the world, the life of his brother was the only one he cared for.

Vladimir sighed, frowned, shifted and it all added up to nothing, because he ended in the same place-staring at Anatoly's face... what he would see of it. Bruises peeked out of white bandages, taunting... whispering of pain Vladimir wanted to take away-but couldn't.

"Hey," A young voice said as a greeting. A woman walked in, wearing the typical nurse blue. She had short red hair and carried bandages, her green eyes shifting to Vladimir before landing on the comatose man.

"Have to replace the bandages," she quickly explained. "My name's Scarlett. You can help if you would like - or grab a coffee and I'll come get you when I'm done."

"Not leaving," Vladimir stated, sounding perhaps a bit too angry. He hadn't meant to-but he didn't trust her (or anyone) around Anatoly while he was so defenseless. "I think, maybe I stay." He looked at the young woman, waiting to see what she wanted him to do.

"Okay, if you want to help - he may get stressed, if you talk to him, it should help. Hopefully, the morphine blocks the pain - I know, hopefully isn't definite, but it's all I can give you." Scarlett walked beside the bed, and started pulling out various things.

Vladimir nodded. His gaze shifted. He wanted to watch her... but at the same time, he needed to watch Anatoly. Vladimir stood beside the bed, hands hovering, fingers twitching as he waited. "Does he hear?" Vladimir asked, turning his full attention to the nurse.

"Yes - most do..." Scarlett moved to the front of the bed, expertly starting to peel off the bandages.

He'd guessed as much. Blue eyes watched stained bandages removed, revealing the bruised and once-ruined side of Anatoly's face. Vlad's expression never changed, but his heart squeezed in on itself. He'd seen death and pain... he'd caused as much-but it was never Anatoly. His brother wasn't supposed to go through this... pain so close to death that he was literally blanced on the edge. Only days ago, this wasn't forseeable-they didn't have disasters, only normal days. But then again-years in prison taught Vladimir to expect pain, and prepare for the worst.

Scarlett continued even as his heartbeat picked up. His body reacted from the sudden pain and discomfort, lashing out. She paused, and nodded to Vladimir, before going back to trying to pull off the bandages.

Vladimir put a hand on Anatoly's chest and leaned closer to him, whispering quietly in their native language. Alternately, he went between ordering him to be calm, and pleading with him to be all right-because while he'd always been in charge, he'd also always been the younger brother...

"Legko, 6paT... Neechevo srashnava."

Anatoly calmed at his sibling's voice, yet still he stayed tense. Scarlett put the old bandages aside, revealing - fully - what had become of his face. Bruises and stitches - though there was no longer swelling. The bones were more prominent and his damaged eyes sunken in, and a scar ran over his jaw, jagged and done by some unidentifiable object - although, there had been metal in it, and the doctor had guessed it to have been from a car.

Vladimir's vision blurred for a moment, but still he spoke to Anatoly, and his voice never changed. He'd seen to much to be thrown over the edge by this... still... it was harder than he thought to see the injuries.

"Mne zhal', 6paT."

Scarlett pulled some medicine from the desk behind her, and carefully applied it over the cuts. She quickly grabbed a swab and pulled open his eye, trying to somewhat cover what she was doing from Anatoly's brother. She popped the fake eye out and swabbed it, then began on the socket.

Vladimir had seen, despite her effort to hide the action. His blood felt cold, and at the same time, his skin felt like it burned. Still, he said nothing to the woman and let her do her job-because that was what Anatoly needed, not anger... not now.

Carefully the nurse pushed it back in and let his eyelid drop back down. She started re-bandaging, avoiding the feeding tube and ventilator as she went.

Staying out of the way, Vladimir silently watched Scarlett as she rebandaged his brother's face. He found it rather simple to respect her for what she did. He didn't respect many people, but her job, and how she handled it was deserving of it.

Scarlett finished and backed off, picking up the used materials and tossing them in the bedside trash can. "Thank you. Do you have any questions? Or need anything?"

"What did that... to my brother?" He needed that-only that. An answer. He needed to know what happened, and who had done this. So far, every question he'd asked had been thrown back in his face.

"Your Uncle said he was in a parking lot? The scarring tissue on his jaw says a car door." Scarlett pulled off her blue gloves and tossed them into the trash as well. "Lemington didn't want to add to your stress, it's why your questions have been ignored. Speaking of Lemington, he'll be coming in tomorrow to speak to you - insurance and money, mostly."

Vladimir clenched his fists. It took almost more will power than he had to keep calm. He would add to this, "Lemington's" stress. However, he was grateful for this nurse's honesty. "Car door? It wasn't accident."

"Judgment will come to those who deserve - if not in this life, then the next. You understand?" Scarlett had heard many people swearing revenge on murderer's or otherwise that had hurt loved ones. Just not someone who seemed capable and very intent on doing just as he said.

"Judgment will come." Vlad stated, rather darkly. He nodded, turning to look at Anatoly again.


	7. Chapter 7

**SherlockAvenger** , **this chapter is dedicated to you! Hope you enjoy it...**

 **Thank you all for the reviews, follows, and favorites - posting this one tonight because I'm not sure if I'll be able to post tomorrow. Either way, we'll see!**

Doctor Lemington strolled down the long hallway, hands in his coat-pockets as the said coat trailed behind him. Fisk had given him a job to do – he intended to succeed. A nurse stopped him and handed over a clipboard, and he didn't stop to thank her.

Reaching the room, he peered inside; and upon seeing Vladimir he had to wonder if the man had slept in the past week and a half. "Mr. Ranskahov." It wasn't a greeting, and it wasn't a question, just a statement.

Vladimir looked up, staring at the doctor with a far away look in his eyes. "Shto?"

Lemington walked forward, clipboard in hands. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there have been complications. The X-rays saw a hemorrhage. We have options - to keep him on life support, but it will only prolong his pain."

Vladimir tensed. He sat silently for a moment. What was one to do in situations like this? Now, first off, he could walk over and hit the man, but if he was right... it would accomplish nothing.

"I want second opinion."

"And you have it already." Lemington handed over what he held - papers, with several other signatures from other doctors.

Vladimir's expression twisted to one of anger. "You're lying." He stood and jammed the board forcefully back into the man's hands. He looked into the doctor's eyes with a hate that he couldn't explain... because Anatoly wasn't dying. He wasn't, and anyone who said he was, was wrong.

"I know you feel this way - but would he want to be like this? Hooked to a machine for the rest of the time he has left?"

Vladimir moved forward, almost nose to nose with this supposed doctor. "He..." Vladimir paused, "...wouldn't take your word for anything-because you're lying." Vlad was sure of it. He wasn't ready to be wrong about this.

Lemington gulped. He took a step back and held his hands out. "I did say there are options. Just take into account, as of the complication, we don't know what pain it will cause him."

"You'll think of something." Vladimir's expression was dead-blank, empty of any emotion. "Hopefully..."

"Please, just consider what I'm saying."

"I have, you do same... and consider what I say."

"Yes - I just don't want him to be in pain during his last moments..." Lemington's voice stayed calm. He opened his mouth again, determined on convincing the Russian before him - his mouth turned to a gape when Anatoly's hand shot up from the bed to grab his brother's arm.

The older brother's eyes were open, something like fear and confusion hidden in their depths. He struggled to breathe around the tube that snaked down his throat, yet no sounds came from his own chest, and it only rose when air was pushed in by the machine.

Vladimir was instantly focused solely on his brother. He turned to the doctor. His eyes threatened before his words did, but they were not long in coming. Vladimir's voice was low and threatening, "Help him, or you'll end up in next room."

Lemington jumped into action. He moved forward, all but squeezing past Vladimir. "Mr. Ranskahov," he spoke to Anatoly, "You're lungs can't handle the stress - imagine letting your breath out and counting to ten before breathing again..."

Anatoly looked completely horrified for a split second. His fist lashed out and connected with Lemington's nose, a loud crack resonating from the hit. His feet scrambled to get off of the bed, and his arms flailed, monitors all wailing.

It was Vladimir's turn to shove past the other man, sending the doctor spinning. Vladimir dropped to his knees beside the bed, right at eye level with Anatoly. "6paT moy..." No effect. "Anatoly, Neechevo srashnava. Paneemayoo?" He had to get his brother to calm down.

The voice broke into Anatoly's mind - and something cracked, shattering like glass. A tiny gasp came around the tube and he started tipping sideways from his sitting position, straight towards the floor - or now Vladimir.

Vladimir carefully pushed Anatoly back to where he was supposed to be, then shot the doctor a meaningful look. His eyes demanded that the man do something...

Lemington jogged back to the bedside, if not hesitantly. He wasn't going to lose his life, no matter what Fisk had offered him... "I have to get his tube out, keep him as still as you can." Lemington reached for it, disconnecting it from several wires before starting to pull it out.

Vladimir placed a hand on Anatoly's shoulder, the other hand grasped one of Anatoly's twitching hands. Blue eyes looked calmly into Anatoly's desperately searching ones. Vladimir didn't know if his brother could see at all. Still, he remained calm, because it would help Anatoly-all this was to help Anatoly.

As soon as the vent was out Anatoly weakly sucked in precious air. His hand gripped Vladimir's, grabbing tighter until his knuckles began turning white.

"Dyshat, 6pat moy... Dyshat..." (Breathe, my brother, breathe...) Vladimir practically commanded his brother to breathe, willing oxygen to fill Anatoly's lungs as though he somehow had power over that. He knew better, but still...

Anatoly's eyes rolled up and started flickering shut, while his jaw began working back and forth as he fought his own lungs.

Vladimir's heart beat wildly in his chest, threatening to beat right out of him as he looked at Anatoly-pain... he could see only pain. The doctor wasn't right, because Anatoly was _better_ than before. His grip on Anatoly's shoulder tightened.


	8. Chapter 8

**This is more of a short chapter to show you they have a long, long road ahead...**

 **Dedicated to Sailor Light Angel! Thank you for reading, I hope you like this one...**

 _Fisk snarled at him, bashing the door against his head. "You embarrassed me! You embarrassed me in front of *Her*!" He couldn't think around the agony, and even the instinct of survival couldn't force his body to move again._

 _Pain seared through his brain – a brain that was now determined to be smeared on the SUV door._

Anatoly woke, body trembling. "Vlad'ir?" It came out as a hoarse whisper, his expression one of pain.

"Da..." Vlad blinked exhaustion from blue eyes and looked at Anatoly, who was looking a bit more him, and less dead. The doctor had "miraculously" taken back what he'd said the day Anatoly had woken up. Supposedly, there was no longer any sign of the supposed **life ending** damage now.

Anatoly moaned, and any attempts to move were sluggish and failures. The sounds of the hospital had him flinching, for more reasons than one.

"Eezveeneete, 6paT." Over the last week, Vlad decided he'd probably said "sorry" in more ways than he could remember, and more than he'd done before in his whole life.

"Когда мы можем уйти?" Anatoly's sentence was whispered.

Vladimir glanced around. Honestly, he didn't know. He wished they could leave right then, but as it was... he just didn't know. He shrugged slightly and frowned. He hated being the one person who his brother trusted, but being the one person who didn't have the answers his brother needed. He shrugged again. "Don't know."

"It's cold," Anatoly stated, the very picture of uneasy and exhausted. A shudder controlled his arm and he felt with a rush of emotion from realization, - that he could no longer blink. "I can't... blink. 6paT?"

Vladimir's calm expression never changed. He pulled the blanket higher over Anatoly and glanced at the call button. He'd really grown to hate it... and it was rather a last resort kind of thing...

"Brother? Shto? Lost... lost... lost...S...S?" Anatoly's mouth kept forming in an attempt to get out a word that refused to come.

Vlad closed his eyes for a moment. It was harder than he'd thought. They'd warned him that things like this might happen. "Nyet... not lost." His whispered statement was followed by another. "You're getting better..."

"...Mm...Da..." Anatoly was out before his eyes closed.

Vladimir nodded, patting his brother's chest gently and practically dragging himself to the chair beside Anatoly. For the first time in a week, Vladimir closed his eyes, and allowed himself to sleep... just for now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you everyone, you're all too kind!**

 **Dedicated to ABewilderedBear! Thank you for the support!**

 **God bless!**

The world came back into focus as Vladimir blinked. The sun shone through the east facing window as it rose slowly into the blue sky. Sleeping in a chair... it wasn't comfortable, but then again, he'd had worse-any sleep at all was a relief. He stretched, grimacing as several bones popped in protest.

Instantly, he turned, looking to Anatoly. He was asleep. The heart monitor beeped away in a constant rhythm, telling Vladimir that his brother was still there.

His attention drifted as the door to Anatoly's room creaked and slowly opened. He recognized the nurse... Scarlett.

Scarlett moved inside, holding a clipboard. She knew, as they'd been in for perhaps two weeks now, and of course they wouldn't want to stay any longer. That much seemed clear to her.

"I've got Anatoly's release papers. You can sign here, and I'll take it back to the desk; I've got the medicines sorted out, tell me when you need me to give you instructions."

Vladimir nodded. Finally, they could leave. It had been two long weeks... the first had been torture, the second had simply been a different kind of torture. He stood, snatched a pen from its place on the board, and scribbled his signature on the papers. "What do I have to do?" he asked. He'd like the instructions now, so as to avoid any and ALL waiting.

Scarlett pulled a prescription bag from her other hand and set it down beside Anatoly's leg on the bed. She rifled through it. "This is just a pain killer, but it's also a sedative, and with head wounds you have to be careful with this one. And this is for the replaced bone - to help it mend correctly, and this..." she pulled out something less-pill form, "Has to be put on the skin. Try to keep him from sleeping with the fake eye in until you're sure there's no infection. He can't have solid food for at least a week, then it has to be applesauce and soups for another week."

Vladimir listened as patiently as he could. He mentally re-listed what he had to do. Painkillers were also sedatives-be careful with them. The others were for replaced bone. The last thing was for the skin. Fake eye had to come out at night. And... no real food.

"Anything else?" Vladimir asked, frowning distantly as he stared past the nurse.

"It has to be cleaned with a towel and put into this..." Scarlett picked up a case then set it back down. "I'll wake up Anatoly and show you how to do it, but you can always research and youtube your way through it if it comes to that."

That was easy enough-well, for him anyway. He decided that, perhaps if he was "normal" pulling someone's eye out might be a bit of a problem, but luckily, he wasn't most people. Vladimir waited for the nurse to go on explaining.

"Anatoly," Scarlett called carefully. She avoided touching him, as several of the nurses had made that mistake in the past week and it never ended well.

He stirred, until both eyes blinked open. "I have to show Vladimir how to take out the artificial eye. Do you need help sitting?"

He stared at her for a long time, squinting and for a moment she feared he hadn't understood - but he began sitting up, leaning his back against the wall. His shoulders were squared but defeat seemed to be in every other inch of his body.

She moved to his eye and put a hand around it, waiting for Vlad to follow the movement.

Vladimir glanced at the bandages the nurse had removed, staring at them blankly for a moment, then moved forward and followed the Scarlett's instructions. Everything seemed distant and hazy-like a dream one might just wake up from. For a moment, Vladimir looked at his brother's eye-not the fake one, but the real one... the eye watching him.

Scarlett showed him how to remove and put it back in, and all the while Anatoly sat still, just staring at his brother - like a storm hidden and trapped behind a glass door. "Okay. That's it. He has to be taken out in a wheelchair - protocol."

"Da..." Vladimir knew that. He hated rules... they were restricting, and annoying. But it was what it was, and he knew better than to argue now. Vladimir snatched everything that was now theirs-most of it medicine or whatnot. His gaze shifted to look at the nurse. He kept waiting for more instructions, because there always seemed to be more...

Scarlett seemed to be contemplating something. She moved the wheelchair beside the bed, and briefly glanced at Anatoly - who continued to watch her, - before she let go of the wheelchair handles and moved to Vladimir, more cautiously than not wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

Vladimir tensed. He wasn't entirely sure what sort of trick this was... people just didn't DO that. He looked over the nurse and his eyes met his brother's. Confusion passed between them as though they'd actually said it. Slowly, Vladimir returned the action, carefully-and a bit awkwardly-putting his arms around her, then tapping her shoulder as a cue to let go.

Scarlett moved back, wiping under her eyes with her nails. She moved back to Anatoly and tried to help him into the chair, though something seemed to click and he moved by himself, some look of frustrated determination coming over his face.

Vladimir stood near Anatoly-muscles tense-as though he was waiting for something bad to happen. Actually, he was. It was a difficult balance. He had to be patient, because Anatoly didn't ask for help... he couldn't give it. It was a matter of pride really. But-if it came to it... pride could be thrown aside...

As Anatoly's world spun, he stumbled, but somehow made it to the chair. He lowered himself down, his arms shaking from exertion. Scarlett starting pushing it forward.

Vladimir trailed after them, following silently like a shadow. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. It was nearly dead-nearly. He sent a text to Sergei, telling him to bring a car. He slid the phone back into his pocket and walked along, shooting an occasional glare at random hospital staff members.

Anatoly wore his normal jeans-shirt-leather-jacket attire, somehow having convinced a nurse that it was fine. Sometimes, he was fine; and then seconds later he couldn't form words anymore. He barely spoke, and Scarlett had to wonder, what had happened to him?

As soon as they got outside, she waited for Vladimir to take his sibling.

Vladimir carefully helped Anatoly out of the wheelchair-though it looked more like he'd hauled him out of it. He kept one arm under his brother's arm, and around his shoulders.

In that moment, a taxi pulled up, slowly rolling along the drive until it stopped just before them. Black letters on the side read "Veles Taxi" which meant Sergei had perfect timing.

When the door opened, Anatoly grew rigid. Eyes widened and his lips pressed into a tight line. "Cтоп! Nyet, nyet!"

Vlad flinched, surprised by the sudden exclamation. He backed up, pulling Anatoly with him. He used his free hand to turn Anatoly's head toward him. "Shto? Anatoly?" He kept his voice calm as he stared into his brother's eyes.

Anatoly's fingers latched onto Vladimir's jacket, heart pounding wildly. "Nyet, nyet - nyet! Я не прошу прощения, у меня не было идеи, И не значит, чтобы смутить вас."

Vladimir frowned. It made no sense. The words were understandable, yes, but what Anatoly said didn't mean anything. He was apologizing, saying he didn't mean to "embarrass" someone. "Nyet, 6paT. Nyet... eto prekrasno. Videt'?" (No brother, no, it's fine. See?)

Anatoly looked dazed and surprised. He glanced at the door, making anxious chewing motions. "Eto... prekrasno...?" (It's fine?)

"Vy are bezopasno, paneemayoo?" Vladimir asked calmly. (You're safe, understand?)

"...Da, da." Anatoly continued to stare at the door, images brewing behind blue eyes.

Vladimir moved forward with Anatoly, slowly... carefully, like walking with a child. He didn't understand-but at the same time, things were starting to make sense. The nurse-Scarlett-had said whatever crushed Anatoly's skull had been a car door. So, that explained the extreme reaction.

"Gotovy?" (ready?)

"Gotovy... da." Anatoly released his grip, though his hands trembled. It felt like he was losing himself - his sanity slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. And he couldn't stop it.


	10. Chapter 10

Hours later, Vladimir wandered through the garage. He checked the work being done, making sure it was correct. Of course, his oversight of the work was distant, so, after a while, he left Sergei in charge and headed to his office-where he'd temporarily left Anatoly-sleeping on his couch.

Vladimir moved through the door at the edge of the garage, then through a hall and up a small flight of stairs. Once at the top, he followed another hall, and finally reached on last set of stairs and another hall. He walked past several doors, finding his, and walking in. He pushed the door open quietly, so as not to disturb Anatoly.

Closing the door, he paused, looking toward his older sibling. He couldn't count the times Anatoly had helped him-took care of him. Ever since they'd been children, Anatoly had always been there-and Vladimir had made it his job to do the same for his brother...

Vladimir's thoughts drifted to the past:

MEMORY_ _

Vladimir coughed, spitting out blood. Blurry vision saw only the concrete of the ground beneath him. He pulled his arms under himself and started to rise-just as his attacker kicked, landing a blow to his side. He fell again, rolling from the impact. The eighteen-year-old groaned, the sound pained.

It really wasn't fair-a four against one fight. He'd held his own... until the tazer. Vladimir really didn't appreciate when people cheated like that-but think what he did, he was still on the ground, being beaten by four angry men.

Two of the men hauled him up and held his arms to keep him from moving, while a third went about slamming his fists into Vladimir's face. Every blow stung and ached, one caught him in the eye-he knew it would be swollen tomorrow... if he lived to be bothered. Suddenly, he realized, this was not how he would die... on his knees... no.

The anger drove him to fight again. He kicked at the man before him. He was hit again, but it didn't stop him. Still, he wondered if maybe he WOULD die tonight...

"Suka!" The sudden exclamation was angry, loud, and not from anyone of the men beating Vladimir. Anatoly grabbed one of them by the shoulder, yanking them backwards with enough force to send them sprawling onto the ground.

The toe of his boot dug into the man's ribs as he kicked, a mad scowl on his face as he repeated the motion, fists balled tightly by his sides. Several of Vladimir's attackers tried to pull Anatoly off of the one on the ground. The twenty-seven-year-old twisted his upper body around, landing a hard blow on the face of the closest.

His lip was pulled back over his teeth in a feral snarl. His hands grabbed the hair of the now-closest person, bringing their head down to smash against his knee. Several times, until blood covered his pants *and* the guy's face.

"Idti! IDTI!" (Go!) His yell was obeyed by the beaten attackers.

"Vladimir?" Anatoly was running, although sideways as he moved around his brother. He crouched, one hand grabbing Vladimir's shoulder while the other was placed under his chin, turning his bloodied face to where the older sibling could see.

Vladimir coughed quietly. "Da..." The quiet groan was added to by a wheeze at the end. "YA byl v poryadke..." Vladimir added, pushing himself up from where he'd fallen-or at least, trying to. Vladimir ended up just letting his head drop back to the pavement with a hushed grunt.

(I was fine)

When Anatoly spoke again, it was in their native language. "There is a car waiting. Can you move?"

"Da..." Vladimir grasped his brother's shoulder, using it as something by which to pull himself up. His eyes screwed shut and he bit back a pained sound-he wouldn't let that be heard. He finally stood, hobbling on one foot. He kept one hand on Anatoly for balance. Finally, Vladimir took a deep breath, pulling air into his abused body.

Anatoly pulled Vladimir's arm over his shoulders. He was quietly grumbling curses beneath his breath, and as they passed the man on the ground - still groaning over the beating he'd taken, Anatoly sent one last kick in his direction. A very well aimed kick. An agonized, high-pitched groan escaped the former-attacker as he curled in on himself.

Vladimir laughed at his brother's antic. "Anatoly..." Vladimir clicked quietly as if to reprove his brother's actions, when actually, he quite approved.

Anatoly's briefly smirked. They made it to the awaiting car, and Anatoly helped his brother in, before sliding inside his self.

"Eezveeneete..." The apology was mumbled through tired coughing fits as Vladimir looked at Anatoly. He didn't mean to cause his brother any trouble, really he didn't. It just seemed to happen. Still, Anatoly was always there to keep him alive when he really needed help.

Anatoly hummed a reply and sniffed, distracted as he once more looked over the inflicted injuries. "We'll need ice."

Vladimir snorted. "Ice... just open the door." It was Russia, they were in no short supply of ice.

Anatoly looked disapproving despite biting his tongue and letting the car fall into silence again. The car drove, less than safely, to a warehouse not far from where they were. "Anything broken?"

Vlad poked at his side. "Rib-maybe two. I'll live." He took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes and let out a long sigh, cringing at the pain it caused to pull in air. It wasn't agony-just annoying.

"Da... This is not how you die."

Vladimir blinked rapidly, the memory fading before his eyes. He'd always been the hothead. It was always Vladimir who got in fights without cause... yes, he'd grown up, he'd learned to be cautious-but that was because Anatoly had been a good example. Yet, there he was... so broken, and it was without cause. He deserved better.

Anatoly stirred slightly, and Vladimir moved forward. He rearranged everything on his desk a few hours ago-simply to give himself a reason to be near his brother...

Anatoly was drawn from the depths of darkness - the damp, cold emptiness that had been his sleeping mind and exhausted soul. His eyes cracked open, his one-eye looking at the blurry images of the roof. "6paT?"

"Da... YA zdes'." (Yeah, I'm here) He moved around his desk and pulled the rolling chair over, sliding it next to the couch and then sitting down.

Anatoly sighed. "How long?"

Vlad wondered exactly what Anatoly wanted to know. How long ago had he been attacked, or how long had he been home? Vladimir guessed. "Been back four hours..."

Anatoly looked as though he was desperately searching for a word that was right there, yet just out of reach. His unfocused eyes watched the roof. He asked a gibberish question, yet seemed to think it made perfect sense.

Vladimir's expression never changed. He'd been told to expect that, and so he answered. "Da, moi mysli tochno." (Yeah, my thoughts exactly.)

"It's hot." Anatoly shifted on the couch, limp hand pressing against the leather and an expression of discomfort crossing his face.

Vladimir nodded slowly, but reached forward and placed a hand on his brother, to make sure he wasn't feverish. Luckily, he wasn't. Actually, Anatoly was cold, only thinking it was hot, because the air temperature was warmer than he was. So, Vladimir pulled his jacket off, and set it over Anatoly. It would seem insane to his brother, but his actions would make sense in a few minutes.

Anatoly pushed the palm of his hand against his bruised face, and hissed in surprise, jerking back. He spoke another non-sense exclamation.

Vladimir quickly pulled Anatoly's hands down, and looking into his eyes. "bud'te ostorozhny," (Be careful.) Vladimir said, voice quiet.

Anatoly's jaw went slack before his teeth clacked back together. He made a muffled sound of pain and let his eyes close. He grew lax as unconsciousness took hold of him again.

 **God bless!  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**God bless!**

Russian rock music was playing quietly in the background, but it didn't register in Anatoly's mind. He felt weighed down, and pain blossomed behind his eyes. He cracked them open, staring at the bland white roof of the apartment. Sore muscles twitched as he tried to sit up.

Vladimir walked circles in the apartment. He'd spent the last hour-and days-checking up on his "business" and ensuring everything was going smoothly. Now, he was just... walking.

Anatoly seemed better-well, apart from the obvious issues. Vladimir didn't know what to do. If he knew who'd attacked Anatoly, he could do something about it... but as it was, he was just grasping at straws... there was nowhere to direct his anger-so he had to hide it, keep it to himself.

Luckily, he had other things to do... watching out for his brother being the first. He'd come full circle, and was now in the room he'd left his brother in.

"Kak dela?"

(How are you?)

Anatoly sluggishly turned his head in the direction of the voice. Blindly his eyes sought for where it came from, frustration hidden inside. "Eat?" The question was posed by itself, and something inside of him wanted to hate the vulnerable sound, but his mind wouldn't supply any reason or anger.

Vladimir nodded. He couldn't hate Anatoly's weakness-not then, or ever. Because he didn't choose this. Of all the things Vladimir could imagine, (and there were many) never had one of them been him... taking care of his brother. He'd imagined dying... hundreds of times. He'd always thought that was how it would go, with him dead, and Anatoly alive, somewhere. So, with what had happened, it'd been something of a shock.

The younger brother moved forward and helped Anatoly sit up. He sat beside him for a moment, just... realizing how fragile life could be.

Anatoly's eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell, fighting to catch his breath again. He pessed a hand against his eye, pushing against the glass. He couldn't feel it, and he couldn't see out of it, and there was truly no reason for it to be there but to add frustration.

Vladimir pulled Anatoly's hand away from the glass. "стоп, Anatoly..." With his free hand, he pried his brother's eyelid open and looked at the glass, making sure his brother hadn't damaged it-as if he could.

Weakly, the elder brother latched onto Vladimir's wrist. He tried to reply with words, but nothing came, nothing but more exhaustion adding to his listless expression.

Vladimir sighed quietly. "Mne zhal'. Eto budet luchshe..."

(I'm sorry. It will be better.)

Anatoly's head fell forward until softly thumping against Vlad's collarbone. His back muscles tensed, as if he was attempting to move again, but his body no longer obeying.

Vladimir stared over his brother, as though watching for threats. He wondered how long it would be before Anatoly was "normal" again, or... more normal anyway. He accepted that things would never be as they were-and it hurt, but he would never let that destroy them...

Anatoly clamped a hand down on Vladimir's shoulder, pushing himself away in a jerky strained movement. "I can't stand," he whispered.

Vladimir responded by standing and hauling Anatoly to his feet. He didn't say anything about it. What was there to say?

"Gotovy?"

(ready?)

"Da." It was more of a sigh than an actual reply. Anatoly leaned against Vladimir, and briefly he wondered - would he end up dying via accidental fall when his limbs locked up and maybe next time, Vladimir wasn't there? There would be no honor in a death with Anatoly vs. drawer.

They moved to the next room, through that, and ended up in the kitchen. It was clean-despite the presence of more Vodka bottles than counter surface. Not that they drank that much... but it was always nice to be prepared.

Anatoly leaned against the counter, hands grasping at the marble like a lifeline.

Vladimir pulled a chair over, and pushed Anatoly down onto it. He looked at his brother and all he could think in that moment was. Whoever did this had ruined so many things for Anatoly. He could see-the only thing keeping Anatoly from giving up was stubborn will. He was frustrated and couldn't remember things or accomplish relatively simple tasks... and it wore on him.

Anatoly blinked, eyelids closing at different times. He clacked his teeth together subconsciously, as though chewing.

Vladimir stood beside Anatoly for a moment. He wondered if Anatoly would accept this... He was having a hard time with it himself, and he was physically fine. So his concern for his brother was well founded in his mind.

Anatoly made himself look at his sibling. He stared for a moment, before going back to vacantly looking at the table.

After another second, Vladimir turned, heading to the refrigerator. He pulled it open and noted (with little shock) that half the contents of the cooler were bottles of Vodka. He huffed out a sigh and glanced over his shoulder.

"Khotite vodki?" he asked sarcastically.

(Want Vodka?)

Anatoly looked confused. He swallowed harshly, staring at his brother with a lost look.

"Da... Nyet." Vladimir contradicted himself. "Eezveeneete." He apologized and ended up fishing something out of the back of the fridge... something that resembled what an apple might look like if it were run over with a tank.

Anatoly entwined his fingers behind his head, elbows still on the table, and head dropping lower. He took in a sharp intake of air, before letting it out in a tired sigh.

"Eto odin iz tekh dney," Vlad mumbled, crossing the room again.

(This is one of those days...)


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: BECAUSE, tomorrow I may or may not be able to post... I will post this tonight. Thank you, everyone who has stuck with me this far - I love each and every one of you! Your reviews, favorites and follows make my day(s)!**

Tired eyes stared at the blurry cars.

He cursed, swinging in a circle only for dizziness to wash over him. He stumbled, back slamming against a telephone pole. He cursed again, the fuzzy images somehow sending jolts of pain through his head. The angry scowl on his face hid any fear or confusion that simmered inside.

Prison. He remembered prison. Siberia, cold, pain – a car horn blared in front of him and he tripped, landing on his hip and shoulder. His hand moved out in a wild, failing attempt to regain his balance as he scrambled onto his feet. Where was Vladimir?

**************DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL*****

The garage was in chaos... or at least Vladimir was. That in turn caused chaos for everyone. Half an hour before, Anatoly had just... disappeared. Already, half the men were out on the streets looking for him.

Vlad had already called him, only to discover that his less-than-well brother had left his cell in his office. Frustration was the only emotion showing in dark eyes. Vladimir had ended up walking-guessing that his brother wouldn't have made it very far.

Only five days ago, he'd gotten out of the hospital, and Anatoly still had moments of... confusion. So, the last thing Vlad needed was for him to get lost in New York and no idea he was IN New York. Because that had happened three times already.

So, he walked along the streets, looking for Anatoly.

*****DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL*****

Car horns were still blaring, and Anatoly looked for the sidewalk in a desperate attempt to find his way out of the street. He spat out words in his native tongue, arms out from his sides either to help him find his way, or to keep his balance, as his world spun and tilted.

********************DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL********

Vladimir's phone rang. He picked it up and listened as Sergei said he'd not found him yet. Vlad told him to keep looking, and hung up. He cursed under his breath and walked forward again.

He paused, turning in a slow circle. He frowned, staring around him. How far would Anatoly have gone? He decided this must be what baby-sitting was like... only, with a child old enough to wander off and get into more trouble than most...

*********DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL*****

Anatoly was sent to his knees when he found the sidewalk. He growled in frustration and dragged his legs out of the street, palms scraping against the concrete. A string of cussing was spat in his direction, and he returned the favor.

*********************DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL****

Vladimir glanced across the street as several cars honked, and someone started yelling. Now, in New York, it wasn't so uncommon-However, it was a bit odd for someone to respond by shouting back in Russian.

The familiar sound had Vladimir storming across the street, ignoring the traffic and causing several drivers to swerve and slam on their brakes to avoid him. It didn't particularly matter to him, as long as he made it across.

Finally, he reached the opposite street, and glanced around. Vladimir sighed quietly, finally having found him. His brother looked completely frustrated and confused, not to mention angry.

"Anatoly," Vladimir's voice was calm-as calm as he could keep it. He strode across the sidewalk toward Anatoly, who was just sitting on the pavement with a confused expression.

Anatoly looked up, the emotions on his expression backing off. "Vladimir?" He breathed through his parted jaws, huffing out a breath that sounded relieved, yet still bordered on annoyed. He pushed himself up, and wobbled dangerously. He shook his head, eyebrows raising then moving into a frown as he tried to make sense of the mess of jumbled images.

Vladimir put a hand on Anatoly's shoulder to steady him. "Znayete li vy, gde vy nakhodites'?"

(Do you know where you are?)

Anatoly squinted, his one good eye trying to look into one of Vladimir's. He snapped his jaws together. "...Nyet." It was ground out through clenched teeth.

Vladimir nodded. "New York." The statement was controlled and meant to cause no panic. "Vy vse v poryadke?"

(You all right?)

"Da...Я не вижу?" (I can't see/I do not see?) Anatoly took a hesitant step forward, jaws working as he fought the brewing frustration.

Vladimir's jaw clenched. Anatoly would remember everything in a while-it was the times that he didn't that made everything harder. "Davay..." Vlad kept one hand on his brother's shoulder and started moving forward. He paused, waiting for his brother to move.

(Come on)

Anatoly let his eyes drift slowly shut, even as he started walking. He remembered times in his life when he had felt this tired. Times of starvation and thirst, where the hunger pains sapped the energy from his body, and the dry itchiness of his throat drove him further down.

But he'd always had a sense of understanding.

Vladimir crossed the street beside Anatoly, leading him along as if he were totally blind. Vladimir had never been a patient person... not for most. But when it came to his brother, he did what he had to do, no matter how hard it was... because they were family, and that meant something.

Anatoly's chest heaved in weak breaths. There were things he needed to know, but they hovered at the edge of his consciousness, just out of reach.

Once on the other side of the street, Vladimir stopped. "6paT...?" Vladimir expected questions. He'd answer them if Anatoly would ask... if he needed to know.

Anatoly asked the contemplative question in their own language. "What happened to me?"

Vladimir closed his eyes for a moment. He could only imagine the true answer to that. Anatoly had never really told him, but he knew a bit. He answered quietly. "Someone tried to kill you... with car."

Anatoly's expression darkened. He nodded curtly and looked away once more, eyes lost in memories.

Vlad hesitated for a moment, waiting for Anatoly to "come back" as it were.

Anatoly's voice was low. "I don't know who he is. I can see his face, but there's no name."

Vladimir frowned slightly. Well... a face, he could work with. "What does he look like?"

"'s... Bald. Big." There was a disgusted, bitter sneer on Anatoly's face.

Vladimir's eyes narrowed and his fists tightened. "Fisk?" If his brother didn't remember, then saying the name would mean little. But... it was Fisk. He'd betrayed them. Had he been planning it all along? Vladimir had let his brother walk into a death trap... and Fisk had left Anatoly to die. Anger burned just beneath the calm mask...

Anatoly reacted at the name. He tensed, eye twitching, and he swallowed rather obviously. "Fisk..." His heart pounded. "Fisk. Fisk did this."


	13. Chapter 13

**Dedicated to SherlockAvenger (Who, by the way, is writing a Ranskahov fanfiction, that you *need* to read!)**

 **Enjoy, and God bless you all!**

Anatoly couldn't stop his trembling. As hard as he tried, he continued to shake. His teeth ground together and his fists curled until the veins protruded. How had he been reduced to this? Exhaustion numbed his anger and frustration to a vague hum in the back of his mind.

He fought for energy that he could no longer find within himself. No amount of sleep, and no amount of coffee would return it to him.

The man sank lower into his chair, one hand rubbing against his forehead. His body quaked again, and went from cold to hot. Pain thundered behind unfocused eyes, and slowly his head fell against his brother's shoulder, the sounds of the other speaking Russians being drowned out by his own heart beating.

Vladimir momentarily glanced over, just for a second, then his focus was back on the conversation. He'd called a meeting, of sorts. Fisk was responsible for what was happening, and it wasn't to be tolerated.

Vladimir had everyone preparing for a war. Yes-war. Fisk was going to pay. Everywhere, his men were getting ready for whatever came. He was waiting, planning-as Fisk had done, so he would do. He would plan his betrayal, and he would attack. First, he had to draw him in... lure him in. Make him angry.

And Vladimir knew how. His lapdog, Wesley. If they had him, they had the power-or, most of it. From what Vladimir could tell, Fisk couldn't function without the man.

Piotr was on the streets. They'd had him check the numbers on the black SUV they'd found in a chop shop. The numbers were registered to Fisk. It was his car... Not that they didn't know that.

Conversations flew back and forth. Preparations were being made, plans laid out, and questions answered, all very business like.

Anatoly breathed deeply, the sound near a growl. His eyes were pried open, glassy, yet attentive. He tried to make sense of the jumbled words, and voices. The only one his foggy brain seemed to register was Vladimir's. A soft breath passed over cracked lips. "They don't know I'm alive. We can..." he frowned. "Use it as advantage."

Vladimir nodded contemplatively. So far, that seemed to be true. It wasn't like they'd broadcast the information. He'd made sure that as few people new as possible.

"Do we go after Fisk?" The question was posed by one.

"No-we draw him in." Vladimir replied calmly, though anger was burning in his soul. The man lied to them, and tried to kill his brother. It wouldn't go unpunished.

Anatoly looked sluggishly up at Vladimir's face, and something in his expression was as though he didn't even realize he was no longer holding up his own head. He puffed out a noisy breath. "Vlad'ir?"

"Hm?" Vladimir glared around the room once, just daring someone to say something. Luckily for all of them, they stayed silent.

Anatoly closed his eyes again. He spoke a nonesense question rather confidently.

Vladimir blinked slowly, frowning straight across the table-at Sergei, who looked down at the floor and stayed silent. Vladimir answered the nonsense question as though it had been clearly understood. "Fisk budet platit'." (Fisk will pay)

Anatoly quietly spoke in their native tongue. "Will we see Moscow?"

Vladimir was actually caught rather off guard by the simple request he'd heard eight years ago. But this time, he wouldn't deny his brother this. "Da... my budem." (Yes, we will.)

Anatoly's eyes rolled up once more to stare at Vladimir. Gratitude and assurance rested inside of them. He let them shut again.


	14. Chapter 14

Vladimir paced in his office. He held his cell in one hand, glaring at the device as though it had committed some crime. Finally, he hit the button that "woke it up." He looked through his contacts, found Wesley's number, and hit "send."

He stood still, listening to the ringing. Vladimir's gaze shifted toward his brother, who was on the couch across the room. Again, his anger was kindled. They did this.

"Vladimir?" Wesley's voice was cautious.

"Da... yes. I," he gritted his teeth. He'd already decided what to say-still, it was hard to ask. "Does F-your employer-still want deal?" He heard Wesley laugh derisively on the other end of the line.

"Yes. Are you ready to deal?"

"Yes."

"I'll meet you with the details then."

"Fine. Where?" Vladimir asked.

"Hmmm... Union Allied building… Half hour."

Vladimir said nothing more. He hung up and returned his attention to his brother. "It's done," he stated quietly.

Anatoly stared blankly for several long seconds, before vaguely nodding. He tried to sit up, but the only movement and progress he made was a slight flinch as his muscles twitched. "When's meeting?"

Vladimir licked his lips and frowned slightly. "Half hour." Anatoly didn't have to come-in fact, Vladimir thought it better that perhaps his brother stayed. He would leave him with Sergei. Meanwhile, he would probably end up going with Piotr and a few others to meet Wesley. But that was still yet to happen.

A knock on the door drew Vladimir's attention. "Voydite," he replied absently.

(Come in)

Piotr and Sergei both entered. "When do you leave?" Sergei growled, looking at Vladimir. Piotr stayed silent.

Vladimir nodded to them, then looked at Sergei. "Vy ostayetes', chasy Anatoly." He then directed his attention to Piotr. He told the other man to head to the car, and that they were leaving now.

(You stay, watch Anatoly.)

Piotr and Sergei both nodded, Piotr walking back out the door with a grim expression while Sergei stayed where he was.

Vladimir watched Piotr walk out, then he turned to look at Sergei. "Ubedites', chto on imeyet vse, chto yemu nuzhno." He turned and followed Piotr out the door.

(Make sure he has everything he needs.)

Piotr clambered inside the taxi, starting the engine and waiting for Vladimir. He glanced over his shoulder and out the rear window.

Vladimir walked along silently. He made his way to the taxi Piotr was in, and tapped on the trunk. Once it was opened, he looked in the trunk. They had everything they would need to start a war. Really, it didn't take too much; that much was clear to Vlad.

He got into the passenger seat.

Piotr briefly looked sideways at him, before driving out of the garage in silence, one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm against the door.

Vladimir sat in the passenger seat and shifted. He glared out the window for a moment, then looked back. Several other taxis followed behind them. They were more for backup... just in case. Vladimir didn't think they would need them... but he couldn't be too careful when starting war.

Turning his attention back to Piotr, Vladimir spoke. "Vy gotovy?"

(Are you ready?)

Piotr looked over again. "Da." He didn't say anything about Anatoly, and he didn't ask if Vladimir himself was ready - un-necessary questions.

Vladimir nodded. "Spaseeba." It wasn't something he said often, but he figured the past week warranted it.

(thank you.)

Piotr tried not to look surprised. He nodded as a response. The drive to the building wasn't long - and soon he was pulling into the parking lot, and turning off the car.

Vladimir pulled open the glove box and pulled out two Glock 9mm hand guns. He handed one to Piotr, and slipped the other into the waistband of his jeans. With a stoic expression, he got out of the car and looked up at the towering building with one thought; they would pay for what they did to his brother.

Piotr guessed they would be waiting for perhaps five minutes before Wesley arrived. Which, was enough time... He jogged to the trunk, opening it and pulling out the *Supplies*.

"Dayte mne korobku." Vladimir stated, holding out a hand and nodding to the empty box in the trunk.

(Give me the box)

Piotr handed it over. He'd known the Ranskahov's since the one time - when they'd all escaped. He remembered being freed by the men escaping the prison with nothing but two ribs; the determination and will kept them alive. He recalled leaving, fighting their way out - so, when paperwork asked him when and where his place of employment was...

Vladimir nodded and took the box. He glanced through the rest of their *Supplies* and breathed a sigh. Today, Fisk would learn who it was he'd gone after, and today, he would learn never to do it again.

Vladimir put the box in the back seat of the car and then shut the door. He closed the trunk and waited. The place was abandoned, so... whenever Wesley showed up, they could do whatever had to be done.

He brought "the box" as Piotr and Sergei called it, and the "supplies." All they needed was Wesley.

Piotr eyed the empty place with wide eyes, waiting. It was quiet, except for the soft breeze. The other taxis weren't far away, just parked in places where Welsey wouldn't see unless he was expecting them.

Vladimir pulled his cell from his pocket. Wesley was now two minutes late. The Russian frowned and jammed the phone in his pocket. "YA dumayu, chto Uesli khochet razdrazhat' menya."

(I think that Wesley wants to annoy me."

"Ya dumayu tak." (I think so.) Piotr stared at the entrance, arms loosely by his sides. The sound of a car engine started drawing closer, (Luckily for Wesley, Piotr mused upon seeing Vladimir's expression.)

Vladimir shifted, glanced around, and turned to see who it was, though it must've been Wesley. He could see a black SUV driving toward them. Black SUV... like the one they'd used to try and take Anatoly's head. Anger burned in his veins. His muscles tensed, and he pushed away from the taxi. He had to bide his time... he could do that. It wouldn't be too hard.

Wesley gracefully stepped from the car, and straightened his jacket as he did so. He strolled towards them, halting somewhere in front. "My employer is pleased to..." Wesley looked around, eyebrows knitting together. "Where's your brother?"

Vladimir's face twitched. "Days ago, I'd have asked you same thing." It was all he could say without losing it. Slowly, one hand inched toward where he kept his handgun, because this was only going to end one way...

Wesley subtly shook his head, frown deepening. "Excuse me?"

Vlad found himself wondering how long he could play the game of "holding his temper" because really, he'd already decided on the outcome, so now, he was just "playing." He was pretending to be holding a meeting. He was a cat, batting at a mouse... he was just watching, to see if the man felt any remorse for what he'd done.

"My brother... do you know what happened to him? Does Fisk know?"

"What?" Wesley briefly looked at Piotr, who wore a wide-eyed yet somehow un-concerned expression. "We have to be as expeditious as possible with this deal."

"Deal?" Vladimir asked, amusement mingled with anger tinted his voice. His fingers hovered at his sides, waiting until he'd had enough...

"Yes." Wesley's tone held an impatient calm. ""My employer is tiring of this."

"You mean FISK?" Vladimir asked.

Wesley's lips pursed. "Anatoly should have been here. He wasn't as... Cantankerous."

"No, so I suppose that's why you tried to cut off his head?"

Wesley gave a patronizing laugh. "Did you hit yours?" It was condescending; painfully so.

Vladimir snapped. He'd had enough. He pulled the 9mm, and aimed it at Wesley's head. "Were you there? Did you see...? Did you just let Fisk, try to murder my brother? Don't lie to me."

Wesley looked unimpressed. "Yes."

Vladimir shifted his grip on the gun and his expression darkened still further. He wasn't sure shooting the man would cause enough pain. He didn't even regret what he'd done-what he'd let Fisk do to Anatoly.

So, he turned to Piotr, silently telling him to take care of the driver, and returned his attention to Wesley. His aim lowered, and he pulled the trigger, shooting the man's knee and sending him to the ground. Vladimir was pleased to see the lack of a smug expression.

Piotr left to do just that, and his walk turned into a run when the man started driving. A gunshot rang, and a tire blew - the driver getting out to run, only to be tackled by the Russian.

Wesley gasped in pain, blood gushing through his fingers as his hands moved to cover the wound.

Vladimir glanced up only long enough to make sure Piotr was all right. He was-not shockingly.

He turned his attention back to Wesley. "You left my brother to die. You and Fisk. Now, I get payback." With that, he aimed, and shot a bullet straight through Wesley's chest, into his heart. He watched the man's blood flow freely from the wound, knowing Wesley only had moments.

Casually, Vladimir walked back to the car, he pulled the door open and got out the box. He set it on top of the car, then moved around to pop the trunk. He pulled it open, and retrieved the machete from its place, then made his way back toward Wesley.

Welsey gargled on the crimson pouring from parted lips, his hand now desperately scrabbling at the fresh injury. His muscles spasmed and his head slammed against the concrete, the rise and fall of his chest abruptly ending. A tortured scream came from the driver, and a shout from Piotr.

Vladimir glanced over in the direction of the shouting. The sight that met him wasn't surprising. Piotr had "taken care of" the driver.

In one movement, Vladimir hauled the now lifeless body of his enemy up, and leaned Wesley against the taxi. With relative ease, Vladimir did what Fisk had tried to do to his brother. He removed Wesley's head.

Blood sprayed against the yellow vehicles side, and onto the concrete. It felt like a victory. Yes, Vladimir would admit to that. He dropped the head in the cardboard box, and sealed it, with one final look at Wesley's body, he called over Piotr. It was time for them to start their battle.

 **God bless!**


	15. Chapter 15

**You guys are all caught up with where I have written too... Yipes! It's intimidating. Anyways, this chapter is about a day later, Anatoly fell asleep on the office couch and wakes in the middle of the night...**

Sweat stuck Anatoly's hair to his forehead, and dripped from his jaw. He wiped sluggishly yet roughly at his face, before his hands shot out to grab onto the desk. Pain laced along the back of his head and he ground his teeth against it.

Moonlight filtered inside through the window, shining down on him brighter than the sun. It burned his eyes, and sent pounding through his mind like the hooves of a thousand horses.

One hand jerkily moved to grab the cup of water left on the office table - and his world swam, tipping sideways and sending him toppling backwards to the floor. Anatoly cried out in either surprise or discomfort, hands shakily grasping at his dark hair.

One hand jerkily moved to grab the cup of water left on the office table - and his world swam, tipping sideways and sending him toppling backwards to the floor. Anatoly cried out in either surprise or discomfort, hands shakily grasping at his dark hair.

He growled, eyes un-focusing. The world continued to spin and tip, and eventually his hands found the desk leg. He didn't try to stand again.

His forehead leaned against the rough material, and slowly his breaths steadied.

He was tossed into the oceans of memories.

MEMORY:~ _The teen sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the book in his lap. He wasn't sure where it had come from, at least, not originally. His father had given it to him the day before, or more like thrown it in his general direction, not realizing he'd been standing there._

 _Across the room, his five-year-old brother noticed the book, and padded over. The child looked over his brother's shoulder, eyeying the images and words he couldn't read. "Shto?" Vladimir poked Anatoly's shoulder as a cue for his sibling to answer him._

 _Anatoly looked over his shoulder at the child, then motioned for him to sit. "It's a history book. This is America," he pointed to a drawing._

 _Vladimir sat down with a thump and looked with interest at the picture. "America?" He cocked his head slightly and frowned. "What's it like?" He'd heard a little of the other country, but not very much. It was all rather unreal to him... after all, he'd never seen it._

 _Anatoly hummed quietly as he stared at the picture, then flipped to the next page. "Unlike any other country."_

 _Vladimir shifted impatiently. "And?" He looked at the pictures. There was one of a tall green woman with a torch. "What's she doing?" he asked._

 _"It was a gift from the French - signifying freedom, and a welcoming sign to anyone coming from all over the world."_

 _"So, even us? They want us?" Vladimir asked, looking at the picture. He'd always thought all coutnries were like their home-closed off and cold._

 _"If Russia was opened..." Anatoly murmured. Although, The Cold War in the 50s had left tension still._

 _Vladimir nodded. "Can we go to America?" The five-year-old was still young. He didn't understand the "Cold War." He didn't know who caused war, or why it started. He just knew that he wanted to see a country that was free-that welcomed others._

 _"Maybe one day." Anatoly flipped to a different page. Yes, maybe one day they would go to America - but it would never be his home. He belonged in Moscow, in Russia._

 _"Okay. Will it be soon?" Vladimir asked. His eyes scanned the paper, looking at each image with interest._

 _"I don't know, Vladimir." Anatoly put a hand on the nape of his brother's neck and put the book on his siblings lap._

 _Vlad started skimming through pages. He couldn't read, but he could see, and he decided that one day, he was going to be there-free. It was what he wanted... Vladimir wanted to be free. It meant something more to him than even he knew at the time._


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thank you for reading this, everyone! This chapter leads back into the oncoming war...**

 **God bless!**

It had been days - days of war starting. Ivan had gone missing, Sergei had been backed into a corner, forced to kill some of Fisk's men - plans had been made...

Rain pelted down on the car, sliding down the windows. Anatoly sat in the passenger seat, waiting for Vladimir to get back inside. In one hand he held the artificial eye, staring at it with his other - his eye lid blinked over nothing.

Vladimir walked back to the car under the pouring rain. He waved one hand at Piotr and Dmitry, dismissing them. He pulled open the driver's side door and got in, pulling it shut after him and running a hand through rain-soaked hair. He turned to look at Anatoly. "Ty v poryadke?"

(Are you okay?)

Anatoly looked up, eyebrows knitted together in a frown. He stayed silent, either trying to understand his brother's words or figure out how to use his own mouth. "Da."

Vladimir's gaze shifted and he looked at the glass eye his brother was mindlessly holding. Slowly, he looked back at Anatoly. He searched his brother's face. "Vy uvereny?"

(Are you sure?)

"Nyet. Tam net nichego, chto mozhet mne pomoch'. (There is nothing that can help me.)What did Piotr say?" Anatoly looked down at the glass again, turning it over on his palm.

Vladimir nodded. He glanced out the window and remained silent for a few more seconds before finally answering the question. "They found Fisk. He's grown careless..."

"Where?" Anatoly asked, glancing up at his sibling once more.

"Pent house in middle of city. Piotr and Dmitry are headed there-to stay out of sight until they get call," Vladimir answered.

Anatoly nodded. He turned his head away and pushed the eye back in.

Vladimir nodded and put the key in the ignition. He turned on the car and pulled onto the main street. They had moved operations since starting the war with Fisk. Vladimir had known it wouldn't be wise to stay where they had been... Fisk knew, and he would use his power to destroy them. So they'd moved.

Now, they were going to their second safehouse, as it were. They'd gathered weapons and men there, and they were all preparing to storm Fisk's house.

Since the incident, they'd heard little from the man in black. He seemed to be taking it easy while the Russians and Fisk went to war against each other, and Vlad found he didn't care one way or the other.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Remember how I said something about going back into what happens with the war? Well, I may have gotten distracted...**

He didn't remember anything big. Just the small things. Like the rare-laugh. Eye color. Disagreements that meant nothing in the end. And all of the sudden, they didn't seem that small anymore. They made up the world. A life.

Shock was what he felt, initially. Painful and unexplainable, like something tearing him apart. Like imploding. Imploding alive. Anger came next. His thoughts were made up of emotions, not sentences; memories and horror.

Horror. That was it. Something so un-describable, like icy fire in your veins. Like your soul freezing over. Like suddenly, everything seemed so much different.

Images flooded his mind, from the small memories to a door; and a man, snarling, slamming it relentlessly. Terror pushed logic out of his reach as he watched, helplessly; his little brother being murdered. Killed.

When Anatoly woke, there was nothing. The room was empty and cold, and only screamed 'death' to him. His heart thrummed, and it felt useless. Until it spread the horror through his veins again. He'd watched his parents die, he'd killed, he'd seen an innocent child be destroyed, and now he'd watched him die, too. Watched the one who had once had so much trouble pronouncing simple words. The one who'd been the scariest teenager Russia had ever seen. The same one he'd spent three years in prison with.

Dead.

It hit like a blunt blade driven into his chest.

His first instinct was logic. Then anger. Then hope.

But none of those changed truth. Just brought you one step closer.

They should have gone to Moscow. They should have stayed away from the mafia. Things weren't supposed to be like this. In every ending he'd thought up, he'd died first. _That_ was how it was. If they'd stayed in prison and **he** had died, would it have driven Vladimir to escape? Would he have survived by himself? Would… The more he sought for an alternative, the more he came to the hollow realization there was never a good ending. Nothing good was destined, just pain and fight that led to graves.

He stood off the couch in a haze, emptily staring at the dark room. It was lonely, and worthless. His head hurt. No, it was more of agony. It only helped drive him to the edge.

A yell broke free from his tightened chest and he stepped behind the desk, forcefully shoving it over. Its contents scattered on the floor, crashing down. It wasn't good enough, it didn't do anything, it didn't add enough pain to his headache, it didn't _bring back the dead._

There were hot tears running down his face; he was numb. Like maybe feeling had never existed at all. Maybe Vladimir never existed. Maybe none of them existed.

He'd felt the exhaustion ever since he had taken his first life. It had only grown ever since, a nearly unbearable weight by the time he had been arrested. Stubborn determination or useless pride had kept him moving.

Now he just felt worn.

And used.

He sank to the floor, back pressing against the thrown desk. His head leaned backwards until hitting the wood.

His soul was dry. His bones were stale. His muscles were stiff. His organs were rotten.

There was a sob – although it sounded more like a gagging cough the longer it echoed.

***DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL***

From outside the door, Sergei-who'd been walking along minding his own business-froze. Why did it always have to be him? With a quiet grunt, the man hesitated outside Vladimir's office. Anatoly was in there-he was always there... okay, mostly always. Sergei glanced around. There was no one else, so that automatically made him the one to go in. After all, Vladimir had told him to keep Anatoly out of trouble...

So in Sergei went. He opened the door in one swift movement and decided not to turn on the light. He didn't have to in order to see the damage done. There was Vladimir's desk toppled sideways, everything once on it was now strewn about the floor-along with Anatoly.

"Anatoly, shto sluchilos'?" (What happened?)

Sergei was already moving forward, now ignoring the mess that had been a desk before Anatoly had taken it down. Sergei ended up kneeling beside the other Russian, concerned eyes scanning over Anatoly to make sure he was fine. All the same, he pulled his cell from his pocket and fingered it, waiting for any sign that he should call Vladimir.

Anatoly didn't seem to register anyone else was in the room. He continued to stare at the opposite wall. There were tears still coming from his damaged eyes, and he ground his teeth against some invisible pain.

Sergei put a hand on Anatoly's shoulder and shook it slightly. "Anatoly?" Sergei was mostly just hoping that Anatoly wasn't dying in front of him, because if he was, then he himself would be dying in front of Vlad in bit.

The now catatonic Anatoly still watched the wall, blankly.

Sergei grunted. Yup, it was time to call Vladimir. He hit the first number on speed-dial and waited (impatiently) for his employer to answer. He kept an eye on Anatoly while he waited. The phone rang, and rang... and rang.

"Vladimir... voz'mi trubku." (Pick up the phone.)

Anatoly lashed out, jerking from whatever stasis he had been in. An expression of disgust came across his face and he put space between Sergei and himself.

Sergei's expression never changed. He grumbled out a curse and shook his head, not entirely sure what was the cause of all this drama. Finally, (thankfully) Vladimir picked up the phone.

"Chto-to sluchilos'... Anatoly..."

Sergei didn't have time to finish his sentence before Vladimir was asking more questions than he could understand. Sergei stared at Anatoly with a blank-but wide-eyed-expression. "YA dam yemu telefon..." (I'll give him the phone.) Without waiting another second, he jammed the phone into Anatoly's hand, whether he wanted it or not.

Anatoly glared, all but sneering as he snapped, "Shto?"

"Anatoly, Ty v poryadke?" (Are you okay?) Vladimir asked, concern flowing clearly through the phone. "Shto sluchilos'?" (What happened?)

Anatoly's skin grew cold as the color drained from his face. "...Vlad'ir?"

"Da... брат, Ty v poryadke?" (Are you okay?) He repeated his question. Vladimir hadn't missed the tone in his brother's voice. He was already headed back through from where he'd been, only about ten minutes away.

"Vlad'ir?" Anatoly repeated, somehow quieter the second time. There was a sigh - and it sounded like something only to be described as despair.

"Da... Anatoly?" The repetitive nature of the word repeated meant Anatoly was probably having mental issues again. Not exactly shocking, but never pleasant to deal with. "YA budu tam cherez neskol'ko minut." (I'll be there in a few minutes.)

"You were dead," Anatoly breathed.

Vladimir's confusion was kept to himself, though it may have come through the phone. "Nyet, брат. YA v poryadke." (I'm fine)

"6PaT, брат." Anatoly let his back rest against the toppled desk once more, eyes sliding closed.

Vladimir sighed quietly. Fisk was to blame for all of this. "Da..." He'd reached the garage by that point, and was headed to the door on the far side. "Vy khorosho seychas?" (Are you okay now?) Vladimir questioned.

"...Da." Anatoly pressed a hand against his eyes, trying to ease the pounding.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Back to the war!**

This was the day-the day Fisk finally paid for what he'd done to Anatoly. Vladimir would wait no longer. This war would come to a swift-and bloody-end. When it came to it, it was to avenge what had happened to Anatoly... but it was to keep others safe as well. After seeing what Fisk had done, Vladimir realized Fisk wasn't doing what was best for the city-he was throwing temper tantrums that were deadly, just to get what he wanted-and it would end.

The shadow of the building loomed over Vladimir and the group of Russian men as they stalked forward. Fisk's penthouse towered into the sky, and it was their destination. Vladimir's stare was like fire. This would end today; and he wouldn't stop fighting until one of them was dead. If he had his way, it would be Fisk. If not... then he would've done everything in his power.

They walked quietly along, slowly and carefully. Once they reached the door, Vlad watched as Sergei took out the man at the door. The guard fell limply to the ground. The door was coded, and asked Vladimir for the password. His expression was flat and unimpressed. The Russian pulled a 9mm Glock from its place. He aimed at the automated lock, and shot it. Sparks flew and the door beeped, unlocking. He pulled it open and Sergei moved in, gun aimed.

Vladimir glanced back, looking toward the Taxi-toward Anatoly. Vladimir had insisted his brother wait there, until they were certain that it was clear. Anatoly would survive this day if it was the last thing Vlad did. Vladimir nodded once, then stepped into the building. He would find Fisk.

Piotr followed in after, carrying gasoline in both hands. Wide-eyes cautiously watched the inside of the looming building.

Around Piotr, several men walked, all clearing corners and checking rooms. Several shots broke out, and the battle begun. Sergei moved on, as he'd been ordered to find Fisk, but not to engage him. Vladimir walked along after Sergei, planning, thinking... wondering how it would all end.

He'd left Dmitry with Anatoly, with orders to make sure nothing happened to him. So, with that, Vlad had left, heading in to find Fisk. That was what had him and the other men all wandering the halls. He knew Fisk was here... Piotr had seen him walk in, and he'd never come back out.

Vladimir moved along, up a staircase, and waved one hand to a few of the others, silently telling them to check other ways for anyone to escape, and to block them. He'd already given them permission to use deadly force if it came to that. Vlad glanced back, looking at Piotr, who was following closely behind him.

Piotr nodded, silently hauling the containers with him. A noise from the level above made his muscles tense and he glanced up, then peered in Vladimir's direction, waiting for some sort of signal.

Vladimir tapped Sergei's shoulder, silently ordering him to move faster. Sergei did so, and they all moved forward and up the stairs. Finally, they reached the top, and came face to face with-an elevator. Vladimir muttered a curse under his breath and nodded toward it. Sergei punched the button with the barrel of his gun, and they waited... standing before the elevator.

It opened with a gentle sound. Piotr looked over his shoulder before jogging inside of it, setting the gasoline containers down briefly.

Sergei and Vladimir joined him, moving around the containers and into the box. Once the doors closed, Vladimir poked the "up" button. The movement started shortly after, giving the affect of a gut-jarring feeling.

They stood-the three of them-inside the tiny elevator. Vladimir shifted, tapping the barrel of his gun with his free hand and impatiently looking up to see if they were close yet. He huffed a quiet sigh.

While he waited, Vladimir pulled out his cell phone and texted Dmitry. He told him that he cold bring Anatoly into the first and second floor of the building-both were clear. Then it was back to waiting.

Piotr hefted the gallons back up from the floor when the elevator came to an abrupt halt. He watched the door as it started to crack open, giving off another soft note.

With an impatient grunt, Vladimir jammed a hand in the door and shoved the sides open-then he was out, on the top floor. With Sergei beside Piotr, they advanced again. Vladimir heard a voice-he recognized it as Fisk's-two rooms over. So he headed that way. His heart pounded in his head like a drum. He could feel his blood burning-anger making his thoughts only on catching Fisk. What he'd done to Anatoly could never be changed... but he wouldn't be allowed to live thinking he'd won... because he hadn't.

Piotr momentarily paused when Fisk came into view. The man wore a robe and held a glass in one hand, standing near the window. He turned to look at the newcomers with a strange expression - one of unconcern and perhaps pity.

Vladimir wanted to shoot him for the expression on his hideous face. But he'd decided shooting would be too fast. He glanced over at Sergei, tossed the man his phone, and nodded, telling him to text Dmitry.

With that, he trained his gun on Fisk.

"You tried to take my brother's head." It was a statement, and he didn't ask for a reply. He didn't want Fisk to speak, he wanted him to suffer-as Vlad had to watch Anatoly suffer every day.

Fisk's face didn't change. "Yes... Anatoly is.. still alive, then?"

Vladimir's grip tightened on the gun. His expression darkened. "Shto?" Fisk thought he'd killed Anatoly? He thought he was so far above them? He had so little concern for another life? The man-if he was even that-didn't even act like it mattered... what he'd done. Vlad had killed, yes... but he'd never tried to cut off someone's head with a door-not even on his worst days. Fisk was less than human.

Slowly, Fisk turned back to the window, staring out contemplatively. "It was a personal matter."

Vlad breathed out in what sounded like a growl. "Da...yes. It is-very personal."

The elevator binged, then Anatoly and Dmitry came out. Anatoly's shoulder hit the wall and he growled out a curse - the other man moved to help him, only to be halted by an outstretched hand and quietly hissed refusal. Fisk turned back around, another emotion crossing his expression.

Vladimir smirked. They'd won. Fisk had underestimated Anatoly-a mistake he wouldn't be allowed to make twice. Vladimir backed up a bit until he was beside Piotr. He glanced back, just for a moment, making eye contact with Anatoly.

A look of disgust settled onto Anatoly's face as he returned Fisk's stare. Piotr meanwhile readjusted the containers he held, and waited for some sort of signal.

Vladimir nodded to Piotr and tapped Sergei's arm as a signal to help Piotr, all the while he moved toward Anatoly. Vladimir pulled a lighter from his pocked and placed it carefully in one of his brother's hands. His expression was calm and certain. "6paT..."

Piotr handed Sergei one of the gallons before making a rush at Fisk, trying to douse him in it. A look of anger came over Fisk's face and he grabbed Piotr's shoulders, slamming him against the large window. Piotr momentarily looked surprised and worried, but it vanished as soon as Sergei dumped the other container onto Wilson.

Piotr ducked out of Fisk's grasp and scurried to stand by Sergei's side, most of his gasoline having been spilled during the brief fight.

Anatoly was there, standing behind the other Russians. The fire of the lighter gleamed in his eyes, and with a sneer and a strongly spoken 'Mudak', he tossed it.

Vladimir pulled Piotr-who was actually covered in gasoline, away from the flames just in time, and watched as Sergei hopped out of the way just a Fisk caught fire. The man-once thought to be so powerful-now ran wildly about, trying to put out the flames that would be his doom.

The Russians all stood, staying away from Fisk as he screamed out at them that he wanted to save the city. Vladimir watched mercilessly. He felt no sorrow for this-he was certain of that as he turned to look at Anatoly. His brother should never have gone through so much pain... but now, at least they had some form or vengeance... justice really.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Fisk screamed in desperation, running at them.

His shout was one of the last things he said, and it earned him a bullet in the knee-fired from Sergei's gun, just in case the flaming man attempted to run at them. Fisk fell to the ground, howling and rolling in flames. They let him burn... because he'd left Anatoly to die. This was payback. Again, Vladimir turned to look at Anatoly-watching the firelight dance in his brother's eyes as Anatoly stared...


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thank you for reading this story; it's been an interesting journey, I'll say that much... "Just this once, everybody lives!" ~ Nine**

The war had ended. Cut off the head of the snake, and the body dies. Anatoly stared at the waves as they lapped against the ship, the sun shining down on his skin. The smell of saltwater overwhelmed him, or nearly. Birds sang in the brilliant blue sky, and people moved around the ship, each doing their separate jobs, or just enjoying the view.

Some of the other Russians had joined them, while others had stayed back in New York.

To Anatoly, it wasn't about the recovery - finally, he was going home. Calm resided in his heart, and he could barely remember feeling a relief so weight-lifting before.

Moscow.

Vladimir stood beside Anatoly, staring distantly out at the deep blue. They were headed back-to the past. Vladimir new the risks of heading back to Russia-but it was what Anatoly wanted. He'd promised Anatoly they would go back, and he was going to keep his promise.

So slowly, New York faded into the distance, looming over the water and watching them leave. The blue horizon seemed never-changing-constant . It would be days before they reached their destination, but it was home... or it would be again.

Their lives would change-Vladimir was certain of that. He wouldn't put Anatoly in danger-not again. It didn't matter what that meant, but something had to change.

Anatoly frowned, resting his hands on his hips. The thought of, 'how were they going to survive' did briefly cross his mind. He'd promised himself that they would never lose what they had - they weren't going to prison again.

Vlad noticed the distance in his brother's eyes. "My budem zhit'." (We'll live) The quiet statement was sure. Vladimir knew that they would make it-they'd already lived through hardship-he had a feeling that everything else would be downhill from there.

Anatoly nodded. His reply was gibberish, but he seemed to catch onto what had happened, and instead pretended the none-sense sentence had never happened. "Ya znayu." (I know)

Vladimir smirked, but said nothing about the sentence. He too pretended it had never happened. "Da.."

Anatoly shook his head at the smirk on his brother's face, his own lips twitching upward. He went back to staring at the ocean.

 **THE END!**


End file.
